


Klassy Meddler

by NotMyOrthonym



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotMyOrthonym/pseuds/NotMyOrthonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya Maryam is freaking out, all over a young woman she's only seen once.</p>
<p>Written for a friend. Her prompt was "Maplehoof is pregnant."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Klassy Meddler

==> Be the Klassy Meddler

You are far too classy to ever spell that word with a “K”, no matter how much you want to make the KM joke.

==> Fine. Be the Classy Meddler.

You are the expert Classy Meddler. Your meddling stats are maxxed out and your classy attribute is as high as it can possibly go.

==> Stop trying to be funny.

You sigh internally and decide to take this sage advice. It is sad enough that you’re talking to yourself, you don’t need to make this any more embarrassing by continuing your silly antics. You know that you are merely trying to distract yourself, and it is not working.

You glance over at your “date” to this event, who is currently attempting to hit on someone else. This happens to you more often than it should. You feel like you were in this exact spot two weeks ago, only then it hurt. It hurt you more than you would ever let on. Now, you find it difficult to make yourself care. Noting this difference only makes you more anxious.

It has been exactly one week, six days, twenty-three hours, and seventeen minutes since you began to stop caring.

==> One week, six days, twenty-three hours, and nineteen minutes ago

You cannot wait for this to be done. Your date has hardly spoken to you all day, preferring to hit on a young man with glasses that she saw furtively watching some horrible movie on his phone. Apparently it was “her absolute faaaaaaaavorite movie of all time”, and they are now “movie soulmates”. You don’t know if she is saying such things to purposefully hurt you, or if she just does not care how you feel, or if she is really just that oblivious. The likelihood of the first two led you to choose not to inform her that the young man is most definitely homosexual. You are feeling spiteful and bitter and absolutely cannot wait to go home, curl up with a good book, and forget all about a certain someone.

You are certainly not sulking, because that would be juvenile and you are never juvenile. Ever. 

“Hey! Hey Rose!” The bespectacled most-certainly-homosexual man your date has been hitting on almost since you got here has begun to frantically wave down someone across the ballroom. You consider that maybe he has noted the advances as unwelcome and is attempting to get a buffer who isn’t completely ineffectual like you. But, given the genuine affection in his smile, you decide that he is just easily excited. 

You look to see whom he is waving at.

You have a good friend who is far too interested in romantic media for his own good. Because of him, you have watched every great romantic movie out there, most of the good ones, and even a fair share of the bad ones. (He has yet to show you a truly terrible one, but given his inexplicable ability to stand Adam Sandler, it is only a matter of time). You have also read many romantic books, some at his urging, but many of your own conviction (truth be told, these are mainly trashy supernatural romances). You have seen and read every terrible romance “first sighting” cliché in existence. You have even had in depth debates with your friend about these clichés. You were convinced that these never, ever happened in real life. They are far too campy, too cheesy, too staged to happen naturally. 

You cannot count how many happen the first time you see Rose Lalonde.

You swear a hush falls over the crowd as it parts, and across the crowded ballroom there she is. She’s turning and you can’t look away and suddenly everything is in slow motion. The world goes rose colored and there are sparkles everywhere as she makes her way across the room so very slowly, and you can’t stop watching her, and your mouth is suddenly dry and your palms are suddenly sweaty and you can’t breathe and your heart isn’t working right, because it keeps forgetting to beat and when it remembers it’s in your throat or your stomach but never where it should be and you are incredibly surprised that you are somehow still standing and not having some sort of seizure.

By the time she makes it to where you are standing you haven’t regained any real control at all and you are so terrified that it is showing that just looking at this woman has caused you to stop functioning. She’s standing right near you and you feel this incredible urge to just touch her, to brush your hand against hers, or grab her into a tight hug, kind of like the one your date’s friend is giving her now, except nothing like that at all, and never let go, or dip her and completely ravish her mouth with yours or oh my god you’ve gone insane. 

You have to get away from her, you have to clear your head, but obviously you’re having some sort of break down (that’s the only explanation, it must be a reaction to watching your date flirt with someone else for hours on end) and you don’t trust yourself to speak right now.

Luckily for you, said date decides to be useful for the first time that night. She excuses the two of you, probably because she is jealous that her (maybe) new boy toy is hugging another woman for much longer than is normally appropriate. Even when he did release her (a full forty seconds after most people would have), his arm remains slung around her shoulders, and you know how your date will interpret that. (Perhaps you are wrong about this man, perhaps he is not a homosexual. Perhaps he is dating this woman. You really don’t want to think about that.)

By the time your heart goes back to normal, the two of you are in your car and she’s ranting about all her wasted effort. You are glad that she doesn’t really expect you to respond, because your mind is full of blond hair and purple eyes and it isn’t until the next day that you realize that you don’t even care about your date’s flirting anymore. 

==> Gush to your friend

“And I think I may have gone temporarily insane or something, because I swear I saw sparkles and bubbles everywhere, and that has to be hallucinating, doesn’t it? There’s not really any other explanation for it, at least not one that has come to mind. Maybe it has something to do with being so absolutely and completely fed up with Vr-“

“You’re babbling.” He’s smirking and it shocks you into silence, because his face rarely shows any emotion other than some variant of annoyed. “And I don’t think this has one fucking thing to do with spiderbitch.”

You decide you don’t want to get into it. “You know, we should probably just start watching, or the popcorn’s going to get cold. Let’s not speak of this anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s like the fifth time you’ve said that exact phrase. And yet, somehow, without me mentioning this woman fucking once, you’ve managed to restart this exact conversation. It’s the worst case of word vomit I’ve ever seen. You just keep spewing out chunks of random speculation, shitty speculation by the way, because you’ve only fucking seen this woman once. It’s like you’ve contracted some terrible disease that causes you to regurgitate your own feces, only in word form.”

“… That was truly one of your more disgusting metaphors.”

“Yeah, not gonna lie, really didn’t think that one through all that well. But, anyway, the fucking point I was fucking trying to get to is: I don’t think you can stop talking about her.” He gives you a meaningful look, complete with weird little eyebrow movements. You, being the embodiment of class as you are, throw a handful of popcorn at him and tell him to press play. 

You don’t actually watch much of it, too busy thinking through what he just said. (He is engrossed the whole way through, and breaks out into tears at the end, as is his custom.)

You’re glad that you have near weekly movie nights with him. You two should probably branch out and make more close friends, but your circle has enough problems as it is, and adding more people doesn’t seem like it would solve anything. In all this mess, however, you can always count on him to listen to your babbling, give you advice, and watch bad romance movies with. And he can count on you to sit through his long metaphors, gush over said bad romances, and meddle in his life when he really needs it. You’d probably both be in much worse places without each other. 

It’s ridiculous how much of the last five days you’ve spent thinking about her. It’s ridiculous how much of this night you’ve spent talking about her. It’s ridiculous that you didn’t really realize so much time she’s taken up until he pointed it out.

“You met her at Equius’s stupid horse show thing, right?”

You’re cleaning up when he starts the conversation up again. He knows that you’re still thinking about her, despite the fact that a whole movie has taken place since you last talked. 

“Technically I met her at the reception afterwards,” you clarify.

“What the fuck even is that? Like, why make people get all dressed up, then go sit in a fucking field for hours watching horses prance about, then make them all go and try to ignore all the dirt and shit while they fucking schmooze for ages? What the shit? Why not just have two fucking events? Is that so fucking hard?” You give him a look. “Alright, I’ll get to the point. Isn’t Equius holding another one of those moronic events next week?”

“Is he? And how do you know about it?”

“Fucking Ampora was whining about it. Something about how he’s obligated to go because of rich people rules and shit, but he hates mud and horses and crap, blah blah blah.”

“What does any of this have to do with my predicament?”

“Bet ya Equius’d give you an invite if you asked.”

You blink slowly. “And why would I want an invite?”

“Okay, now you’re just purposefully being damned obtuse. Gee, I don’t fucking know, maybe you could, and I know this is a radical idea, SEE HER AGAIN. Leave your spiderbitch pet at home, have a nice time instead of a fucking terrible one, and if you still get the visions, you know that she just uses a hallucinogenic perfume or some shit.”

You smile slowly. “Careful, all those fucks you ‘don’t give’ are showing.” 

“Fuck you, I was just trying to help. Never fucking mind.” He grabs the popcorn bowl you’re holding and stomps into the kitchen. You follow him, still smiling. He’s angrily washing the dishes and mumbling some rather inventive insults. 

You lean against the counter next to him. “You know, these events really are boring without someone to talk to.”

“Good for fucking you then, because you’ll have your mystery woman to talk to.” He’s scrubbing a knife a little too hard and his hand slips and he manages to cut himself, somehow. “FUCK!”

“Come here, you idiot.” You’re still smiling. The number of times he’s managed to injure himself while doing dishes is ridiculous. 

He sulks as he walks over to you, but he still lets you take care of him. You know he secretly likes it, even if he’d never ever let on to that. You know exactly where he keeps the first aid kit. 

You carefully clean the cut, which is actually rather substantial and has bled quite a lot. None of his band-aids are the right size, so you end up just taping gauze around his hand. You give him a little pap on the head when you’re done, and his scowl lightens up a bit. 

He sighs and starts cleaning up the blood that dripped on the floor. You hop up on the counter and watch. He’s crouched, trying to get to the hard to reach places under the counter when he speaks again.

“I swear to god, if you abandon me at this event the moment your woman appears, I will fucking kill you.”

“Duly noted.”

==> Get back to the present. 

You don’t like the present. The present is full of nervousness and anxiety. 

It’s been nearly two weeks since the first time you saw her. It’s been nearly two weeks of building her up in your head, putting her on a pedestal, and you’re not looking forward to the moment that comes crashing down. Or worse, when it doesn’t.  
If Rose is not the almost-goddess you’ve built her up to be (smart, funny, classy as shit, maybe just a little bit dark and dangerous because goddammit you’re just so attracted to that and what you wouldn’t give to just bite that neck – this has to stop now), you’ll be disappointed. But you’ll get over it. After all, you don’t know anything about her besides what she looks like, it’s not realistic to expect that she’s your “perfect woman”.

But if she is all that and more, you don’t know what you’ll do. You may just collapse at her feet out of pure worship. There’s no way you could ever be good enough for someone like that. You wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance. And that is so much worse.

Karkat is supposed to be helping you here, but instead he’s hitting on the young man you met at the last event. (He, of course, wouldn’t call it “hitting on”. He would call it something more like “trying to correct the grievous mistake that is this guy’s entire thought process”. But you know what that really means when it comes to Karkat.) It had taken the man (John, you think his name is) about five minutes to spot you at this event. He had come over to see if your date from before was with you again. Karkat had proceeded to make some obnoxious comment about her and wondered what “an idiot like this fuckass” could possibly have in common with “the embodiment of bitchy evilness itself”, which had gotten them onto Nic Cage movies, which led to Karkat nearly having a rage aneurism. He then proceeded to abandon you to yell at you-think-it’s-John. 

You don’t understand what about this young man makes your dates abandon you. 

It had been alright when you were outside, but by the time you got to the ballroom you are close to a panic attack. You don’t even know if she is here. (Oh god, what if she isn’t even here? What if you never see her again? What if you missed your chance? Oh god you’re freaking out!)

You’re legitimately about to just get up and leave because you can’t handle this, when suddenly someone’s sitting next to you and papping your shoulder. 

“Calm you tits.” You should have known that Karkat would never really abandon you. Not when you really need him. He’s not her, he would never act the way she does, and he would never hurt you like that. “You’re legitimately the most amazing person I know, and if she can’t fucking see that then she doesn’t deserve you.” You’re actually calming down, because he knows just what to say and then he says it with only a few expletives thrown in. You honestly don’t know what you’d do without him.

“What if she’s not who I want her to be?” You’re leaning against him and almost whispering.

“She will be.” He sounds so sure.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve got a sixth sense. Now come over here and keep Egbert from talking to me before I lose my last few brain cells to his blathering.”

You smile a little and consider telling him what he and “Egbert” are really doing. You decide that he’ll figure it out eventually. 

You begin to make your way over to where the bespectacled young man stands, when you notice that he has company. 

“Shit.” You’re starting to freak out again, and you think about trying to run away. But he locks his arm around your shoulder and practically shoves you forward. He’s not going to give you a chance to escape. You attempt to steel yourself, and really, really hope none of this is showing on your face. 

“I only came because I thought you were riding today Rose!” Maybe-John is speaking to the-maybe-future-love-of-your-life. He looks upset.

“I clearly told you over three weeks ago that I would not be participating in any events for the rest of the season.” Oh god she’s well-spoken. 

“Bluh bluh, of course you did. You know I forget stuff Rose! Why’d you invite me to this event then? Oh, hey Karkat! I didn’t see you there. You’re so small, like a little ninja.”

“Egbert, shut your moronic mouth hole before you shove your disgusting foot any further into it and begin choking on your rank foot smell.”

“My feet don’t smell!”

“Yes, that was the whole point of that. That was completely me just saying your feet smell. Nothing more to that statement at all.”

“It was less of statement and more of a demand.” There’s a wry twist to her voice, and your knees go a little weak. Most people recoil from Karkat on first meeting, but she seems more intrigued by his rants than repulsed. You didn’t think she could get hotter, but nothing is hotter than being tolerant of your best friend. (Well, some things are, but you really shouldn’t go down that mental road right now, or you will turn the color of a luminescent tomato.)

“Gee, Egderp, why don’t you fucking remember your manners and introduce us to the new arrival rather than finding new ways to show your idiocy?” 

“Oh, right, sorry! This is Rose Lalonde, aka the only reason I come to these stupid events. And this is Karkat and Kanaya!” She’s looking at you! She’s looking at you!

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She’s smiling slightly and extending her hand and oh god you’re going to touch her.

“Likewise.” You’re exceptionally glad that your voice doesn’t shake or pitch itself higher or do anything embarrassing as you reach out to take her hand. Her skin is ridiculously soft and you never want to let go, but you manage to not make a fool of yourself somehow, and the handshake goes off without a hitch. In fact the whole thing goes so well, you decide to try to say more words. “Am I correct in assuming that you are usually a participant rather than an observer at these events?” You get a little verbose when you’re nervous. 

She looks a little surprised and you’re not sure why but you really hope it’s a good reason. “Yes, actually. I’ve been riding since I was quite young. But my show horse has come down with a malady as of late, so I’ve excused myself from the rest of the season.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Somehow, despite being kept away from other horses, Maplehoof is carrying spawn in her uterus. I believe she has immaculately conceived the antichrist, but my vet claims that is unlikely.” You are definitely, one hundred percent, no doubt about it in love with Rose Lalonde.

“That puts you in a very rare position then, being able to name the creature. May I recommend a name?”

“Feel free.”

“Something truly fitting: Pinkie pie.” She lets out a startled little laugh, with something of a snort hidden in it. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anything more adorable. (And you’ve heard Karkat sneeze, so that’s saying something.)

Rose gives you a slow, sly smile. “Kanaya, was it?” You nod. “Well then, Kanaya,” the way she says it makes you shiver, “would you like to dance?” 

Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you’ve done alright so far, so you smile back and say you’d love to. You glance back at Karkat as you go, wanting to know if he's mad at you for breaking your promise and abandoning him, only to see that he has been covering Probably-John’s mouth while you and Rose had your exchange. You think he'll be alright. Actually, you’re very excited to see how that progresses. 

But quickly all worries about Karkat’s love life are pushed out of your head, as all you can think of right now is Rose, Rose, Rose. She is graceful and beautiful and everything you have wished for and you can’t believe when she gives you her number at the end of the night, winking at you while asking you to call. You swear your heart stops for a full minute.

You call her the very next day. 

You wonder, as your relationship goes on, whether Rose felt that connection at that first meeting too. But you know that she is Rose and she is not like you and Karkat. She doesn’t believe in fate, or love at first sight, and you don’t expect her too. You swear that you’ll never tell her that you knew from the moment you saw her. You’ll never tell her about the hush falling over the crowd, the bubbles and the sparkles, about your heart skipping a beat. It’s too embarrassing, and maybe a little creepy. 

(You do end up telling her. Two years later, while you propose. She says yes.)


End file.
